


Death of an Angel

by BleedxLikexMe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Deaths, Gen, Guns, I know I said that but seriously there is SO MUCH ANGST, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, Suicide, There is NO happy ending here!, Trigger Warnings: Cutting, Trigger Warnings: Self Harm, Trigger Warnings: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedxLikexMe/pseuds/BleedxLikexMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thought about it… Thought about it more than once. Had it all planned out, too. //Now with Dean's POV!//</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Really, seriously, do not read this is you're easily triggered or are looking for a happy ending. There is no good happy fluffy feels here. NONE. I transferred this over here from my FF.net account, so don't worry. No one's stolen my work.

Sam thought about it… Thought about it more than once. Had it all planned out, too. He was gonna do it with Dean's .45 in their motel room when John and Dean were out on a hunt. He made sure that even if he did miss that there'd be no one to save him from bleeding out if he couldn't get off a second shot. But then Dean just had stay home and buy him a pizza and have an awesome big brother moment and remind him why it was a good thing to be alive.

Dammit. Of course, Dean didn't know he'd saved Sam's life. Hell, Sam was still pretty sure that Dean would lock him in the Bobby's panic room if he ever found out Sam was thinking these types of things. Sam was thirty-one now. Dean was thirty-five. They were older, figuring out that they couldn't retire- couldn't have That Life anymore. Ever.

Sam was just so tired. Tired of it all. He could barely find it in himself to care about the people getting slaughtered by monsters, about the worried glances Dean gave him, all he could feel was the swirling mass of navy blue that had invaded his body and made his movements sluggish.

He wished he could just grow a pair of balls and pull that fucking trigger. Sam knew it was only a matter of time until he did. He figured it would be less than a week before he was six feet under. Sam began making preparations.

First, he would try to fix that gap between he and Dean. Sam started asking Dean to teach him things he didn't really care about. He even convinced himself that he was doing a good job of pretending to be enthusiastic and interested.

"I love you." Sam had blurted out, desperately wanting Dean to know that he really, really did love his brother. Sam wasn't going to die because he didn't want to be Dean's family anymore. Dean frowned and pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I know, Sammy. You okay?" He asked, resting a hand on Sam's broad shoulders. Sam just nodded and smiled up at his brother. Dean knew, so it would be okay. It would all be okay. When Dean felt reassured he clapped Sam on the back and grinned, "Love you too, little brother." Dean said as he left Sam's room.

Bobby had given them the house when he died in a hunt for a werewolf. Sam knew Dean still mourned their surrogate father's death but Sam… didn't. He was just too sad about everything to only mourn Bobby's passing.

Sam decided Dean understand that Sam loved him wasn't good enough. He wanted to explain why he had to do this. Why he had to leave. So Sam bought a black leather bound journal and began to write. He started from the beginning. Started from the first time he wondered how fast he could bleed out through slashes in his wrists.

Sam didn't want to scare Dean. No, he never wanted to scare Dean, so he kept that journal hidden. Made sure that Dean wouldn't find it unless Sam wanted him to. Three days left, Sam kept thinking as he wrote in that journal.

Sam sharpened his knife. He wasn't going to use it but it seemed like a good back-up plan. He knew how bad it hurt to have your wrists slashed. When the Ghouls had done it to him he felt angry. He was furious that they were trying to take him out in the way he'd originally chosen.

Now that out was tainted and he couldn't use it. That didn't mean he couldn't let the blade bite into his flesh on occasion- it just meant that he was going to die by a bullet to the brain. Sam struggled to ground himself. It wasn't working.

Sam thought it was the ocean of roaring, blinding, beautiful white that constantly changes to the solid, too-thick to breathe, navy blue was what sent him over the edge. He really didn't know, but, what he did know was that he'd prefer the silky white or the sugarless sorbet-blue to the mute, emotionless grey that's called 'normal'.

He was waiting for midnight. It only seemed right. If he was going to Hell for suicide he was gonna go at the right time. He'd made a deal with himself a long time ago and now he had to hold up the last part of it.

The clock was ticking. Less than an hour now. Dean was sleeping in his bed twenty feet away in his own room. It was good that he wasn't there because he'd probably stop Sam again. Sam grabbed the black journal and opened it to the last page. He'd filled it up almost entirely- except for that last page.

He held his jell pen close the paper, not quite letting the metal touch the paper but close enough that if he moved a millimeter he would. How do you say the final goodbye? How do you tell someone that's died for you and that you've died for goodbye?

Sam just shook his head and put the journal and pen down while he thought. How do I say goodbye? To Dean? To everyone? Sam felt his eyes get hot and sting with the promise of tears. It'll be over soon, said the voice in his head. Sam blinked and saw the little mutant cat thing lounging on his bed frame.

"Ready, Sam?" It purred, rubbing its body against his legs. Sam pet the creature and nodded, just as the clock struck midnight. He scrawled a quick note on the last page on the journal and grabbed his gun, "Twice, remember that Sam." It purred, eyes flashing green.

"I remember." Sam whispered, loading each bullet into the clip carefully. He slumped against the side of his bed. He snapped the clip into place and pressed the barrel against his temple. Sam winced at the ice cold metal and squeezed his eyes shut. A smile spread across his lips.

Sam pulled the trigger, sending the bullet out of the barrel and into the soft tissue of his brain. Blood spattered against the bed and the white wall. Red smeared over everything as Sam's body slumped forward with a dull 'thump'.

The gunshot echoing throughout the old house was the last thing Sam ever heard.


	2. Ashes to Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's just aren't meant to be kept....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still really sorry.

Dean had his hand on Sam's bedroom doorknob when he heard the shots. Don't ask him how he knew, he just did. It was a fuckin' brother thing, alright? Two, rapid fire, heartbreakingly loud shots stopped his heart cold. Dean knew what he'd find before his numb body pushed him through the door, "I don't wanna see." He whispered to the invisible force nudging him onward.

"God, don't make me see." He pleaded, not even a millisecond before his emerald eyes landed on his baby brother all soaked in blood. Dean choked out a sob and shook his head, "No, no, no, God, no!" He cried out, falling to his knees. Hot tears stung at his eyes, blurring his vision so he could barely see, but that didn't matter.

He knew he would never forget that last image he'd had of his brother. Sam was hunched over himself, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, with his hazel eyes glazed over. Dean blinked rapidly, willing himself to un-see this shit. But… when he opened his eyes all he saw was Sam. Dead, "Sammy." Dean sobbed, trying to make his muscles move him towards Sam.

"Sammy, man?" Dean couldn't believe this. Sam had been happy today. He'd been talking and laughing. What the fuck? He hadn't been moody or pouting or spacing at all. He'd been focused, attentive, and… God dammit! Why hadn't Dean seen this coming? Why couldn't he have seen the signs?

Thinking back through the past week Dean knew that the signs were there. The sudden happiness, the interest in fixing up the Impala, letting Dean get away with flirting with the teenage waitress both of them knew was way off limits.

All of that plus the fact that Dean had heard Sam say that he wanted out. He just thought it was that craving for Jessica and That Life. It wasn't. Sam was saying he wanted out of This Life. Dean understood the need for both but dying, Sammy?

"What the fuck good is that!" Dean screamed, punching his fist through the dry wall, not even registering the small twinge of pain. Rage replaced his blood and all he could think of was how selfish Sam was, "How the hell could you do this!" Dean screamed at Sam's corpse.

"How the fuck could this-" He shook the gun in the dead man's face, "make anything better!" Dean felt like kicking Sam but his mama taught him better than that. So he glowered at his little brother for a few hours while he gathered the courage to start cleaning up another one of Sam's messes.

Dean refused to cry so he held onto that anger inside of him like it was God Himself and He was the only one who could save Cas from the other angels. Dealing with emotional stuff wasn't ever Dean's strong point and now that no one was around to make him deal… well let's just say it was fuckin' over.

Dean stood on shaky legs, wiped his face clean of tears, and put any and all emotions behind a wall inside him. He had work to do. He let out a heavy breath as he gathered the cleaning supplies and made his way back to S- that one room. He cleaned like there wasn't a body next to him. Dean didn't feel anything if he didn't think too hard.

How many times did he have to lose… that one thing? Three times now, dammit. No more, Dean thought, I'm gonna cremate- it. He couldn't even think Sam's name. Not yet. It was too soon. Too fresh. After several hours of scraping mostly dried blood from the hardwood floors and bleaching the wood until they were white Dean decided to work on The Body.

He didn't even bother changing Sam's clothes. He just dragged him out back, built a shit-tastic pier, and laid Sam on top of it. Stay angry, he thought over and over again as he drenched Sam in kerosene, gotta stay angry.

Sam was surprisingly flammable. He caught easily and burned just as fast. Though, Dean's sense of time was a little bit messed up because he was cremating his fucking brother! Honestly, what did you expect to hear? That Dean sobbed while his brother's flesh sizzled? That he begged the fire to take him too? That he managed to pull himself together once Lisa stopped by on a whim and lived happily ever after?

Well, you're wrong. This is a Winchester we're talking about and Winchester's never get to have That Life. Dean never saw the ending of the fire. He never saw that Sam's ghost was watching the blaze in morbid fascination. He simply held the gun- the very one Sam had used- to his temple and pulled the trigger twice. Two, rapid fire, heartbreakingly loud shots stopped his heart cold.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry....


End file.
